


Swinging From the Eaves

by trashcangimmick



Series: If It Ain't What You Had Pictured, That Sounds About Right [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Bittersweet, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Male Character, slight daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Jeff’s having a rough time in this horrible new place,  but a familiar face from his past is almost as jarring as the weird spider god in the sky.
Relationships: Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen/Frank Morrison
Series: If It Ain't What You Had Pictured, That Sounds About Right [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025881
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Swinging From the Eaves

“Jeff?”

Jeff whips his head around. He lets go of the generator chugging in front of him. He’s still not very good at turning the cogs and fiddling with the wires. If it doesn’t have his full attention, he fucks it up and it explodes. He can’t look over his shoulder for danger like Jake or Meg do. He doesn’t know the layouts of the buildings and forests they’re sent to. It’s difficult to pull himself over windows or sprint in circles. He gets so lost. Rarely finds a generator or does anything useful.

Dwight tells him it will get easier. Squeezes his shoulder and says  _ it takes time to learn, everybody starts somewhere. _ Jeff’s never been fond of team sports. He’s not fast. He doesn’t run so much as lumber. He has bad reflexes. He’s an anxious mess. He’s always been a loner, in part because he feels awful when he lets someone else down.

There’s no choice but to adapt. Since the fog encompassed him and dragged him into this terrifying prison of endless pain and death, he doesn’t have the luxury of solitude. Work together, or perish. 

Today it’s an indoor game. He’s never been to this place before. Granted, there are a lot of places he hasn’t been yet. This is only his fifth match. It smells like rancid meat and the corridors are an endless maze of twists and turns. He dropped through a hole in the floor and hasn’t been able to get back upstairs. He hasn’t seen Laurie or Feng since the start. He’s not sure who else is with them, though he’s heard a distinctly male screaming.

Feng is dead. Hooked upstairs and far away. Laurie isn’t doing a whole lot better. Jeff doesn’t even know who the killer is. 

There’s a kid standing off to his left, with cropped brown hair and a scar across his nose and a notch in his eyebrow. Looks like he’d be in high school or freshly out of it. He’s wearing tight camo-print pants and a leather jacket over a dull grey sweater with the hood pulled up.

“Frank?” Jeff blinks a few times. Maybe this place has gotten to him and he’s finally lost it.

“Holy shit!” Frank laughs. He leans down, hands on his knees to meet Jeff at eye level. “You look really rough. What’s with the scar? And you’ve got wrinkles? What the fuck?”

“I--I don’t know--how do you still look like a teenager? _ ” _

“Uh, because I am one? I sucked your dick two weeks ago, dude.”

Jeff feels a little dizzy.

Frank Morrison disappeared in 1992, along with Julie, Suzie, and Joey. Everyone assumed they all ran away together. Nobody in Ormond heard from them after they left. Sometimes, in his darker emotional swings, Jeff would stew over the fact that Joey’s car was found at the abandoned resort. Joey would never ditch his car. In Jeff’s head, dozens of horrible scenarios would play out--from the four of them getting abducted by a crazed vagrant to them getting eaten by wolves.

An even quieter, meaner little voice sometimes appeared, telling him, ‘ _ you want them to be dead because you hate the fact that Frank left you behind without saying goodbye. _ ’

And now, nearly fifteen years later, he’s staring at the boy who took his virginity. The boy who hasn’t aged a day from those hazy, bittersweet memories.

“I--it’s 2007,” Jeff swallows. At least, it’s 2007 to him. Yui says it’s 2023. To Laurie, it’s 1978. Tapp is from 2004. Dwight, Meg, Jake and Claudette came from 2016. 

“Huh.” Frank raises his eyebrows. “Weird.”

With a simple motion, he steps forward and pushes Jeff’s shoulders back. Jeff tips over, falling on his ass. Frank was always strong, despite his small size. He plops down into Jeff’s lap, easy as anything and presses a messy kiss against his lips. Jeff gets lost for it in a moment. Transported through space and time. Frank still tastes like cigarettes and the sweet, tangy aftermath of the Sourpatch Kids he was always popping into his mouth. He still uses too much tongue, and spit, and teeth. 

But the overpowering stench of meat and grime is hard to ignore. The chugging of the generator is loud. Jeff tries to pull back and Frank follows. He has to grab Frank by the shoulders.

“What’s the problem?” Frank’s breathing heavy. He rolls his hips, rutting against Jeff’s stomach. “Like sure, kinda bad vibes in this place, but I mean. Is it really worse than a Tim’s bathroom?”

“There’s uh--it’s hard to explain. But there’s a killer that’s gonna put us on meat hooks and sacrifice us to a spider god if we don’t finish this generator.”

Frank seems to ponder that for a moment. He reaches down and pulls a hunting knife out of his boot. “If someone interrupts us, I’ll tell them to fuck off.”

“I don’t think you get it. These are like, supernatural monsters. There’s ghosts and shit. We--we gotta go.”

“C’mon.” Frank groans, still undulating in Jeff’s lap. “I’m so fucking horny. Aren’t you? Bet you’ll nut real fast in a barely legal pussy, huh?”

Upstairs, a generator lights up. Two left. Laurie might be able to pull it off on her own. It’s not like Jeff’s is particularly far along. Frank is obviously brand new, and even more useless than Jeff. The killer hasn’t come anywhere near them.

“I’ve missed your dick.” Frank murmurs. “I’m used to getting it every day.”

Jeff’s blood is rapidly racing downwards. Pooling between his legs. Making him throb. The sense memory is very present. Frank’s creamy thighs, his high-pitched gaps, his wet, warm cunt that snapped around Jeff’s dick tighter than anything else he’s ever felt.

It only lasted for a few months, but they were kind of the best months of Jeff’s life. Not dating, exactly. But fucking constatly. They were both messes of teenage hormones and unbridled lust. Frank was always ready to go. Always gagging for it. They’d get high, or drunk, and spend entire days tangled up in each other. 

Granted, Jeff’s not eighteen anymore. It’s doubtful he could keep up with that sort of demand. It’s probably kind of messed up to touch Frank now that he’s so much older. Is it? Frank’s legal… and to him, it’s like they’re still fuck buddies. 

Not making a choice is still a choice. 

Frank sheaths his knife. He scrabbles at Jeff’s jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper. He reaches into Jeff’s boxers and pulls his dick out. Frank smiles. Then he shifts back, sprawling on the ground between Jeff’s legs to suck his cock.

He teases, just rubbing the head of it over his wet lips. Kissing it messy. He barely takes it into the perfect heat of his mouth, pumping the shaft too slow to do much. Jeff can’t keep in the grunt. Everything about this is bad. He should be contributing to the escape effort. He shouldn’t be letting a teenager blow him. He shouldn’t be taking this trip down memory lane to bruised feelings and heartache.

Some desperate part of him wants to ask what happened. He wants to ask if Frank was simply swallowed up in the fog and never meant to leave him.

Frank sits up before too long. He kicks off his boots and wiggles out of his tight pants. He’s not wearing boxers. He’s naked, shaved, and glistening wet. It’s a familiar dance. Frank settling in Jeff’s lap, guiding his dick, sinking down onto it slowly. He clutches at Jeff’s shoulders, gasping as he stretches to accommodate the girth. Their lips meet again as Frank starts to move. Jeff grabs his ass and holds on for the ride. Frank gathers speed quickly.

The glossy sheen of nostalgia wasn’t a liar for once. Frank feels amazing. Warm, silky smooth, so goddamn wet. There’s a squelch every time he slams himself down on Jeff’s dick. He’s moaning and grunting, nails digging into Jeff’s jacket. 

“I think you got bigger.” Frank’s voice is shaky. Almost manic. He’s bouncing on Jeff’s dick like a pornstar. “Should I like--call you Daddy or something?”

“Oh god. No.”

“You sure?” Frank laughs. “Thought I felt your dick twitch.”

He slows down a little, pressing close as he can, rubbing himself off against the curve of Jeff’s stomach. 

“You like my pussy, Daddy? Gonna give me a big, messy cream pie?”

Jeff groans. He smacks Frank on the ass. “Stop.”

Frank shudders. He squeezes down around Jeff’s dick as he comes. It feels so good. Jeff wants to toss Frank onto the ground, fuck him hard and fast untill he’s a limp, mewling wreck. He wants to cradle Frank close, rock into him slow and tender, kiss his neck and whisper stupid things he never had the courage to say before. 

Another generator powers up. One to go.

“C’mon. Want you to rail me. Stand up.” Frank lifts himself abruptly. He stands on unsteady feet, walks to a nearby window and bends over it. He looks over his shoulder. “Well? You’re the one who was in a hurry.”

Jeff heaves himself up. He has to spread his legs a bit to line up, but he manages it. He sinks into Frank, grabs his hips, and sets a brutal pace. Frank cries out. He pushes back against Jeff’s thrusts. The slap of skin echoes on the concrete.

The last generator flicks on, powering the exit. There haven’t been any more screams of pain. Laurie is probably running for one of the gates. They should go. They should try to escape. 

Fuck it.

Jeff growls. He pounds into Frank hard and deep. Frank wails. He flutters and spasms through another orgasm. It doesn’t seem to end. He’s leaking slick. It’s dribbling down onto the floor. Jeff moves one of his hands, starts rubbing Frank’s dick. 

Frank clenches down so hard it makes Jeff see stars. That’s it. The top of the crest. His whole body pulses with it. His legs feel a little weak. 

“Yeah,” Frank gasps. “That’s the stuff. Goddamn.”

Frank straightens up. Jeff stumbles back. Frank dresses himself quickly, and starts to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Jeff tucks himself back into his pants, still winded.

“The exit gates?” Frank doesn’t even look over his shoulder. “There’s two, right? You go for one, I’ll go for the other. See you up there.”

And with that, Frank’s gone. Jeff stares after him dumbly for a moment. Then he hears the distant heartbeat of the killer. Fuck. 

He stumbles through the corridors, looking for the signs to the stairs. He barely finds one before he hears Laurie scream. Quickly followed by another male scream. Shit. Frank. It’s down to Jeff to save them. The pressure builds in his chest, like a bird beating its wings against a cage. 

He finds the stairs just in time to see Laurie’s final struggle on a hook. The spidery limbs of the entity stab through her, and she’s lifted up towards the ceiling and out of sight. Jeff hears the distant buzz of an exit gate. He runs towards it. As he does, the killer’s heartbeat gets louder.

Another scream. Jeff rounds a corner, stealthy as he can be with his large frame. 

He sees Dwight being hauled onto the shoulder of a rather short figure. A figure in tight camo-print pants and a leather jacket. The killer turns around, wearing a while mask with a familiar toothy grin and pinprick eyes painted onto it. 

Jeff can’t do anything but stare dumbly.

The killer turns, takes a few steps and deposits Dwight onto a nearby hook. The spidery limbs rip through Dwight’s chest and collect him as well.

Then it’s just Frank and Jeff. Standing by a nearly opened exit gate. Frank gestures towards it with a bloody knife. He flips his mask up and the thundering heartbeat abruptly stops.

“Well, go on.” He shrugs.

“You’re a killer.” It’s a stupid thing to say. Obvious thing to say. There’s nothing else echoing through Jeff’s mind.

“Duh. But I’m not gonna kill you. This time, anyway. I dunno how long the head bitch upstairs is gonna tolerate that. Like, I don’t wanna, though. You know.”

“You just murdered three people.” Jeff still can’t make his feet move. He’s stuck to the spot.

“Technically, I just stabbed them a lot. Didn’t finish the job or anything.”

Frank’s shoulders are tense. His jaw is set. He’s obviously annoyed. He’s always been prone to angry outbursts. Say the wrong thing, make one wrong step, and Frank isn’t above resorting to violence. Maybe Jeff shouldn’t be surprised what team the Entity decided to put him on.

“Get the fuck out of here, Jeff. Don’t make me change my mind.” Frank snaps.

Jeff’s numb as he jogs to the gate. He pulls the lever down. It creaks open. He walks to the very edge, where the fog is waiting to return him to the ever-burning campfire. He stops to look back. Frank is just standing at the threshold, watching him.

“Try to see if you can leave the fire.” Frank cracks his neck. He’s fiddling with his knife, twirling it the way he always used to. “Maybe you can come visit us at the lodge.”

Us. As in Julie, Suzie and Joey? Jeff could ask, but what’s the point of an answer. There isn’t anything Frank could say to fix the horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

“OK,” Jeff says with a dry mouth, not sure if he means it.

If the other survivors find out he’s messing around with a killer, he’d be ostracised, right? Then again, would that be different from the rest of his life? Frank is one of the only people who ever welcomed him into a social circle. One of the only people who got past the stone-faced, stoic front. He pried Jeff’s thick shell open with a crowbar and got to all the squishy vulnerability underneath.

“If you keep standing there, spider bitch is gonna kill you.” 

Frank walks forward. So he and Jeff are within reaching distance again. He’s still holding the knife. It should make Jeff afraid. It should make him want to run.Frank grabs the front of Jeff’s shirt and yanks him into another messy kiss. It doesn’t last long. It’s a goodbye that Jeff didn’t get before Frank disappeared.

Then Frank shoves Jeff through the fog, past the border of the trial. Jeff stumbles, barely manages to keep his balance. He’s always off-balance where Frank’s concerned.

He walks towards the flickering light in the distance. He doesn’t know what he’ll do. What he’ll say--if he says anything at all. Maybe soon he’ll go for a walk in the woods and see where he ends up, if maybe he’ll spot the familiar run-down ski-lodge where he spent the best days of his youth. It might be some sort of betrayal to the rest of the survivors. But your first love is a very hard thing to forget. The idea of tasting it again is nearly irresistible.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I'm Not Crying. You're Not Crying, Are You?" By Dear and the Headlights.
> 
> IDK if I will write more of this, but I do love my bois.


End file.
